


Heart's In Your Hands

by redeyedwrath



Series: Sterek Week 2016 [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sterek Week 2016, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 23:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8421892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedwrath/pseuds/redeyedwrath
Summary: Four times Stiles and Derek held hands because they had to, and one time they did just because they could





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I think pretty much everyone knows much I love songs in relation to Sterek so when I saw that the prompt for this day of Sterek Week was Lyrics and Quotes my heart skipped a beat because I have so many songs I want to write fics for and it was so hard to pick a song, but I did it!!!
> 
> So yeah, here y’all go ^^
> 
> **EDIT:** Hi so I'm kinda screaming about Eyewitness right now so if you see a ficlet for that soon then uuh... I'm sorry?

_Shine on, young love_  
_You hold my hand_  
_And I’ll hold yours_  
_Then life won’t feel so wrong_

**\- Shine On, the Amity Affliction**

 

-

 

God, Stiles hates it when this happens, when he starts to hate himself and starts to think and think and think until he can’t breathe and wants to die. He’s trembling, running his hands through his hair and scraping his nails over his scalp and it hurts and that’s _good_ because he deserves that, that’s all he’s good for.

“Stiles,” Derek says, but it’s distant, _too_ distant and he can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t - “ _Stiles_ , it’s fine. You’re going to be fine.”

He’s torn between crying and laughing because it’s not fine, it’s never fine, it hasn’t been fine since his mom died and his dad started drinking and now he can’t even talk to his dad anymore and god, he’s such a fuck-up. Everyone should hate him.

Another sob wracks his body and he curls into himself, hoping Derek will just leave him alone like he should be, because Derek deserves so much better than him and he’s ruining everything and he’s so useless, so fucking useless, and he opens his mouth to tell Derek all this when Derek grabs onto his hand, skin soft against Stiles’.

Derek’s thumb sweeps rhythmically over the curve of his palm and he’s making little shushing noises. Stiles can do nothing but squeeze Derek’s hand and ride it out, trying to get his breathing under control. Derek’s hand is warm and soft and so unlike Derek himself that it almost knocks him out of it.

“Feeling better?” Derek asks after a while, Stiles’ hand still clasped in his. Stiles can’t bring himself to look at Derek, too busy trying not to feel ashamed of himself. His heart skips a beat when Derek squeezes his hand.

Stiles shoots him a smile and hopes it looks sincere. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

-

“I hate you so much!” Stiles yells as he tries his best not to trip over a branch or something. Normally speaking, that’d be hard, but right now it’s like two in the morning and Stiles is in his pajamas and he can’t see a goddamn thing.

He jumps when something whizzes past his head, a high whistling sound in his ears. He’s pretty sure that was an arrow meant for Derek, _fuck_.

Derek huffs. “Just keep running.”

“Easy - easy for you to say,” Stiles pants. “You’re the one with freaky werewolf strength.”

Another whistling sound, this time on the other side of his head. Shit, he’s going to get _shot_. He’s going to get shot and die and his dad’ll find him in the woods and all of this is Derek’s fault. Mostly because Derek thought it’d be a good idea to check out the ‘suspicious activity’ in the woods in the middle of the night.

Derek huffs again but he startles when an arrow lands in the tree in front of him. He speeds up, darting between the trees and shit, Stiles can’t even see him anymore.

“Dammit, Derek! Where are you?”

Someone grabs onto his hand, forcibly pulling him forward and he’s about to scream bloody murder when he hears Derek growl, “Come on, Stiles, just a little bit further.”

Stiles clutches at Derek’s hand like it’s a lifeline. Maybe it is right now, because he’s pretty sure Derek is the only reason he isn’t tied up in some basement yet. Derek squeezes his hand again and jumps over a ledge, pulling Stiles with him.

Stiles braces himself for the impact of hitting the ground, but it never comes. Instead, he lands on Derek’s chest with a small ‘Oof’. Derek’s arm circles around him, pulling him closer and shielding him from whatever’s on the ground. Derek doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Are they gone?” Stiles asks after a while, his forehead resting on Derek’s shoulder. Derek’s chest is heaving, his breath flowing over Stiles’ neck and Stiles shivers. He doesn’t want to untangle himself from Derek.

Derek squeezes his hand again. “Yes. Come on, we have to get back to the Jeep.”

Stiles nods dumbly and lets Derek pull him up and tug him towards the Jeep, Stiles’ hand still tangled warmly with Derek’s.

He finds that he really, _really_ doesn’t mind.

-                    

Apparently, the hunters in the woods hadn’t even been looking for them. Apparently, they’d been looking for a few trouble-stirring witches. And apparently, Stiles and Derek had disturbed their hunt and after a relatively civil talk with Chris Argent and a less civil talk with said group of hunters, the blame had been placed on them and they had to find some way to stop the witches.

Which, by the way, was totally unfair, because how could they have known the hunters weren’t after them?

But in the interest of keeping the peace in Beacon Hills and keep all the innocent civilians out of all the supernatural bullshit going on, Stiles and Derek found themselves in a freaking museum after closing time, trying to find some artefact that – according to Deaton – was going to help them take down the witches somehow. Because Stiles’ life was an R-rated Disney movie, obviously.

The lights are still on, which marginally helps, but Stiles can hear the soft chatter and footsteps of the night guards as they move through the museum – which hasn’t even been closed for two minutes, damn these guards are fast – towards the ‘ _Roman Empire_ ’ section.

They’ve just passed a miniature replica of a domus, when Derek hisses, “Stiles, someone’s _coming_.”

Shit, this hadn’t been in their plan. Stiles spends about three frantic heart beats trying to look for a way out, when he grabs onto Derek’s hand and whispers, “Play along.”

The guard comes running around the corner. “Hey! What’re you kids doing here?”

Stiles gives the guard a – hopefully – suggestive smile and a wink. “Sorry, sir. We kind of lost track of time.”

He holds their tangled hands up and waggles his eyebrows, cackling internally when the guard blushes. He hears Derek huff behind him, which, _rude_ , Stiles is totally saving their asses right now.

“Right,” the guard says, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll escort you out of here, then.”

“Sure!”

If Stiles holds on to Derek’s hand until they’re three streets away from the museum, it’s not because he _wants_ to, okay? It’s just to keep up the pretense of being a couple. Obviously.

-

“This is not okay, dude. I can’t consent to this. This is non-consensual hand-holding,” Stiles says as he tries not to make his palms sweat, because the witches cursed them to be stuck together. Literally. With their hands.

Derek shoots him a glare.

“Seriously, man. This is like non-con without a trigger warning. I never thought I’d be saying that, wow.”

Derek huffs and pulls him towards the doors of the animal clinic. Like Deaton will give him any answers about this, the dude will probably laugh internally, and calmly smile externally while telling him they have to wait it out.

“Derek, Stiles,” Deaton says when they walk in, not even looking up. “To what do I owe this… pleasure?”

Derek grits his teeth and throws their tangled hands in front of Deaton’s face. “I need you to fix this.”

Deaton raises his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware I was your relationship therapist.”

Stiles’ heart skips a beat – and he watches as Derek throws him a look from the corner of his eye, _shit_ – because oh boy, would he like to be in a relationship with Derek where they regularly hold hands. Holy shit, he wants that so bad, and this is torture, because Derek’s hand fits perfectly in his and now they’re just stuck.

“The witches literally glued our hands together. We need you to fix it.”

“Witches always have a reason for doing something,” Deaton says, sitting down. “If you’ve figured out the purpose of this spell, which I think Mr. Stilinski already has, then you should just act accordingly and it’ll all go away.”

Oh no, why was Deaton always so observant? Unlike Derek, Stiles had actually been listening to the witch’s curse, and it had something to do with realizing your true potential and Jesus, there must be another way to fix this because this – Stiles _can’t_.

“But,” Deaton continues – thankfully saving Stiles from that fuck-up, “there is another way to fix it.”

“Tell me,” Derek growls and Deaton grins.

Stiles swallows. That’s never a good sign.

-

They’re eating burgers together – after the hunters put down the witch and Stiles can finally (unfortunately) let go of Derek’s hand – when Stiles decides to do something about, well, _this_. He can’t stop thinking about it, the weight and warmth of Derek’s hand in his, the soft skin of his palm, the way it feels so familiar.

And then they’re eating and Derek’s smiling at some stupid joke Stiles made and there’s ketchup in his beard and he looks so _happy_ that Stiles feels breathless with it, because this is the man Derek is supposed to be, and he can’t help grabbing Derek’s hand and tangling their fingers together.

“Stiles,” Derek says, staring at him, eyes wide and mouth open. “You know you’re holding my hand, right?”

Stiles shrugs and tries to look like his heart isn’t beating out of his chest. “I know.”

Derek rubs his thumb over Stiles’ skin. “Okay.”

They eat the rest of the meal in silence, the only sound being Stiles’ pounding heart and the crinkling of the wrappers. Derek sometimes looks up at him, a small smile on his face, and then he squeezes Stiles’ hand and Stiles stops breathing.

“Is this okay?” Derek asks at the end of the night, looking up at Stiles as he presses their lips together softly. Stiles feels like his heart is about to burst out of his chest at the feeling of their lips moving against each other, slowly, like they have all the time in the world.

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbles as he tightens his hold on Derek’s hand. “Yeah, this is okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yooo, another ficlet for y’all!!!! I’m honestly pretty satisfied with this ^^ Also, if you’re into metalcore, I definitely recommend you listen to that song!
> 
> I hope you liked it ^^ Please lemme know what you thought?
> 
> [My Tumblr: A collection of Derek Hale feels, a teenager giving people advice and gay](http://demisexualhale.tumblr.com)


End file.
